Visions of A Good Night Kiss
by AcheronNyx
Summary: After Christine's betrayal, Erik has lost all hope for the one thing he has longed for- love. Sometimes in this world, by a strange sweep of fortune's hand, you can find a soul as lost as you are. But, will you be ready for them once you do? E/OC
1. Chapter 1 Reflections

**Okay, so this is the first fanfiction that I have written in a long time. Sadly I do not own _Phantom of the Opera_, although Heaven knows I want to. Mainly based off the ALW broadway show and 2004 movie, but I have also drawn bits and pieces from Gaston's original novel and Kay's novel. Hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think!**

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Chapter 1 Reflections

Erik's POV

It had been months since Christine had left, but the pain that seared through my soul still ached as if it the fiasco had happened only yesterday. For weeks, I couldn't even bear to leave my cave; I just wasn't ready to see all the wreckage I had instilled upon my opera house in my outrage and utter humiliation. All the pain I had inflicted on my home, on my child, in a manner. How could I have possibly been so careless, to damage and destroy everything I had ever loved? To silence her sweet musical halls?

I knew soon, I would need to force myself to venture up there to confront the result of my own imbecilic actions, if for no more reason then to apologize and atone for what I had taken from her, my darling opera house.

However, guilt was one of the lesser emotions that brawled within me. Devastation, depression, betrayal, and outrage, yes those would sum it all up nicely. These were the thoughts that plagued me night after night, the horrible thoughts that had made me even turn away from my greatest love, my music. I haven't sung or touched my beautiful pipe organ since the day _she_ left me for that incompetent- oh, who am I to try and fool myself; again? He is everything she could ever desire: a rich young man that can give her anything her heart so yearns for. He is not a murderer. He is not cursed to this dreadful monstrous face; for that I could not blame Christine, but for what she did the night of_ Don Juan Triumphant_, that, that I most certainly could blame her for.

I mean how could have Christine done that, who was she to think that she had the right to remove _my_ mask in front of so many people? Who was she to think that she could control the Phantom of the Opera, to publicly humiliate me in such a manner, why did I let her get- because I loved her and she used that weakness to her advantage. But what thanks did I receive for all my acts of pure kindness that I bestowed so openly upon her, to simply get my heart wrenched from my chest and shattered like the cold brittle thing it had become in recent months. Although I can question and requestion all my plots and actions until the end of time; the fact remains that I simply wasn't good enough for Miss Daaé. I was never good enough.

All these years, I've truly been a fool, thinking with time she'd come to understand me and love me as I did her. In reflection, I cannot begin to understand what could have possessed me to think that Christine, a name I will forever mutter with distain, would be any different than all the others. A swirl of suppressed memories of my days before the opera house resurfaced making me shiver as the slightest of tears ran down my face. Yes, people of Paris, despite what you all have come to think, this carcass is capable of feeling emotions other than hate and rage.

Yes, there was a time where I would dream of a lover, who would take my hand without a second thought, without persuasion, simply because she wanted to do so, because she wanted to be with me, because she really loved me. But no one has ever loved me. That thought made me stop and think. Was it really so difficult to understand and see the man that was hidden under the guise of this mask? Was the world truly that superficial, that all the suppressed and hidden desires of love that dwelled just under the surface of my marred skin, could be so quickly over looked, in favor of fear? The answer is, yes it is.

The world is as cruel as the night is dark, and its cruelty is only heightened to those beings that are different and misunderstood, and thus are forced to hide their true selves from the mocking world above, to hide in the shrouds of darkness. "For people are so quick to fear what they don't understand and to hate what they can't conquer; and let us all admit, that they will_ never_ conquer the Phantom of the Opera." I chuckled darkly as I stood for shear dramatic effect.

Wonderful, now I am speaking to an invisible audience, I must be losing my sanity, well what's left of it anyway. I sighed, shaking my head as I sat back down.

However, I _will_ lose my sanity if I stay isolated in these surroundings much longer. I must find something to occupy myself with…

I realized then with conviction, what I must do. I will restore my opera house, little by little, to the best of my abilities. Even with the morose recognition that she may never perform her task and provide the gentle beauty of her music to patrons again, I feel that I owe her at least that. Another benefit from my new project is that it will drag my sorry sack of flesh from sulking in my circle of self-pity and loathing, and instead put my hands to use again in rebuilding as a distraction from thinking of _her_. A rueful half smile spread across my pale face as I stood up from sitting on the side of my coffin.

"There is much work to be done." I spoke aloud to myself as I strode off towards my gondola.


	2. Chapter 2 Solace In The Music

Chapter 2

Geneve's POV

*One month previous*

"Why can they never understand?" Nineteen-year-old Geneve huffed as she stormed into the abandoned Opéra Populaire swinging a small black instrument case in her hand. "Why can't they just let me play my music? Oh yes, that's right, because music is too unladylike according to them. Just because my sisters and brother show no interest in music, makes it so improper." She continued to grumble as she walked through the dusty halls and auditorium. "Why do I have to hide it?" She sighed hoisting herself up onto the stage, gingerly, making sure to not tear her dress; although a ripped dress was the least of her concerns.

After the Opera's fire, three months back, this had become her safe haven from the world and she would come here to practice and to be alone with her thoughts. The first time she had ever arrived, was out of sheer curiosity. Her parents would never let her attend any of the performances here when it was open, saying that the experience would be too overpowering for her small frame. That was always their excuse for anything that she wanted to do, when it related to music. They always blamed her small stature, saying that, whichever musical endeavor she was inquiring about, would be too much for her to intake and how it would overwhelm her small senses, as if they were directly correlated to her size. It was an absurd display of twisted and senseless logic, but nonetheless, they always clung to this reasoning as their crutch of support. At five and two inches above the ground, she was not exactly imposing, but far from incapable. She had wasted countless hours of breathe attempting to convince them otherwise, but what her parents had always failed to realize is that she was far from weak and was not about to let them exterminate her dreams.

Geneve's true passion was her music and the grandest of these dreams was to become a member of the Opéra Populaire's orchestral ensemble. She had always dreamed of entering the glimmering halls and hearing the renowned performances that occurred here, but when news arrived of the devastating fire, these dreams seemed to go up in cinders along with it. The rumors that surrounded the blaze were countless, and being true to her curious nature, Geneve chose to slip out to investigate the remaining shell of the opera house, herself.

That was when she uncovered the true splendor of what it was, and what it could be once more. The fire's greatest damage was to the seating nearest the stage and to her beloved orchestra pit, and of course the ceiling and windows would need repair, as would the shattered chandelier and the set curtains, but the stage itself was still perfectly intact. It was upon this first visit that she decided that this was to be her new practice studio, since her playing was disapproved of in her home. However, first it would need to be tidied up a bit to be an acceptable place to spend such a great amount of time in. She swept and scrubbed the stage as best as she could and uncovered a chair and music stand from the various storage facilities that were mostly untouched by the flames. On these adventures, she had also located myriads of scores and sheet music, which excited her the most, because they presented a new challenge, something new to learn and conquer. It took several trips over the course of roughly a month, before her sanctuary was ready for use, but now she uses it with every opportunity that is presented to her.

'It was always comical that no one has ever observed my absences in the past few months, but then again, I have always been left greatly up to my own devices, which is how I became united with my flute in the first place.' I mused to myself as I sat down in my chair and opened the black case to reveal my stunning silver instrument. 'I remember when my grandfather was still living, how I spent most of my days with him, just listening as he would teach me about everything he knew about music. It was the most captivating experience. And then on my sixth birthday, he had given me my first flute and I remember working tirelessly with him to get my crescendos, diminuendos, sforzandos, and everything in between, just perfect. Then, for my fourteenth birthday, he had given me the flute that I hold in my hands today.'

'These were the greatest gifts that I have ever received. He taught me everything that I know, but not long after that day, he fell very ill and died from pneumonia shortly after. He was my mentor and idol and after his death, I had never felt an alienation and disorientation that was ever that great. However my grandfather's passing led to more than just my mental devastation, the truth of the matter now was that I no longer had a place to go and play and be taught. My only place to play was at home, and my parents quickly grew tiresome of hearing the constant chirping of my flute or the humming of the piano in the parlor.

They were very different from the other members of the aristocracy, in that they both hated music. Mainly father was the one who ruled my interest in music to be damnable and scandalous, but even though my mother, being the well- bred subservient wife that she was, merely went along with his edicts, I have gathered that she too found my utter devotion to music to be distasteful as well. Yes, they were quite strange in their opinions of my musical abilities. While most of their friends encouraged them to flaunt my skills by showcasing my work to all of Paris, my parents angrily sequestered me inside our house instead. It infuriated me to no end. In my own home, I was a prisoner, so to speak; free, but caged nonetheless.'

'We often quarreled about it, but nothing I could ever say could convince them to approve of my music. It isn't that they are terrible, dreadful people, in fact far from it. My parents and siblings are extremely loving in their own ways and they mean well, thinking that they are all keeping me safe and guiding me in a sound direction, but it is not the kind of sound that my soul burns to have in my life. I understand that they have pure intentions in attempting to guide me away from "corruption," but it nevertheless exasperates me that I have to hide my love of music from them and that they really just never have been able to appreciate me for who I truly am. I've come to believe that they will never be able to comprehend the passion within my being when it comes to my playing, but day after day, I keep wishing that they could.'

I sighed with resignation as I picked up my cold gleaming instrument and began to permeate the silent air with my song. It only took a few bars, before there was a smile gracing my face again.


	3. Chapter 3 A Strange Reaction

Chapter 3- A Strange Reaction

Erik's POV

The first time I walked back into the Opéra Populaire, my heart nearly stilled and broke on the spot. It was devastating what the fire had reduced my beautiful theater to, and the worst part of all that I saw, was that I knew that all of this had been caused by the work of my own hands. The remorse and shame that coursed through me was insufferable, but I deserved every bit of it. I sat and just blankly stared out from the stage, for what felt like hours, until resolve took over my spirit again.

'Pitying yourself and stewing in your own self-loathing, is not going to get this place mended.' I chastised myself as I stood up and brushed the dust from my pants, surprisingly, there was very little there. I looked around the stage perplexedly, surely there would at least be more dust, let alone ash clinging to the stage, but it looked clean. That is when my eyes settled upon a small set up towards the front of the stage. There was a small chair, a music stand, and several folders of music stacked nearby.

Shocking even myself, I was not angered by this unknown trespasser's presence in my opera. It must have been the manner in which everything was arranged. It demonstrated that whoever this person was, they showed great care and respect for the music, for the scores were arranged quite carefully. It brought a genuine smile to my face. Something I have not brought myself to do, in an extremely long time.

_'Because the person is mostly likely a musician.'_ Reason piped up in my head. It made me quite curious, for now I wanted to know more about this person's musical history, their talents and strengths; yes, the long quiet musician was being awoken once more.

There was still a booklet of music resting upon the metal stand. I picked it up and studied the page it was left open on; it was the flute part of the finale for the William Tell Overture. _Guillaume Tell _was not one of my personal favorite operas, but it did show that this mysterious player had either great skill or high aspirations, which it was I could not be certain of. However, I had a knowing feeling that I would be finding out soon.

During the day I had managed to sweep up most of the shattered glass and ash from the floor and cleared most of the rubble away from the charred orchestra pit. Currently I was polishing and re-oiling the footlights, when I heard the front doors open and light footsteps click across the foyer. As the footsteps neared, I quickly melted into the shadows and disappeared up to box five. All the while thinking, 'It seems my mysterious musician has arrived.' As I sat there waiting, a light melody met my ears:

_"Little golden blackbird, sees through the shadows at night, little golden blackbird, help my soul to take flight. There was a song I used to know, and it started an A above G, oh little golden blackbird, please help my soul to see. See all the riches, see all the good in the night, call to me little innocent blackbird, to help my soul take flight." _The voice was coming from the small-framed girl in her late teens that had just entered the theater, carrying a small black case.

I couldn't help myself from thinking, that she has a nice voice, but not nearly as beautiful as Christine's. My smile quickly faded. 'Stop thinking such things, they will only lead you back to those sorrows again.' Right. But it was true, the girl did have a nice voice, raw and untrained, I could tell, but with a little help, she- 'No! I will not place myself in that position again. Have I learned nothing from-' I cut off my rantings as the girl began to tune and warm up with a basic B scale.

She then began playing on the page that she had left open on the stage; her skill captivated me immediately as her agile fingers fluttered across the keys. This young flutist's skills were flawless, she was clearly well taught. At such a young age, she was well on the way to becoming a virtuosa.

Geneve's POV

I finished the last bar and laid my flute across my lap. This piece has taken me several days to learn, but I felt that my last playing was sufficient mastery of it. As I was trying to rack my memory for any dynamics errors that I could have overlooked, light clapping snapped me from my thoughts. It was soft and eerie as it echoed throughout the empty auditorium.

"Brava mademoiselle! Bravissima!" A male voice practically sang from out of the shadows. It was undeniably a beautiful voice, none by which the likes I've ever heard.

"Who's there?" I called out uncertainly.

"Do not fret child, I have no wish to harm you." The musical voice spoke back strongly, yet gently. "I only wish to praise your extraordinary playing."

"Oh. Merci, monsieur." I smiled as I looked down, playing shyly with my hands. No one has praised my playing since my grandfather's death.

"You are quite a talent. You must have begun instruction at a young age. Am I correct?" The voice spoke back, seeming almost awestruck. 'No. You silly girl, now you are being full of yourself. Pride leads to ruin.' I quickly berated myself for my arrogance.

However, it was true, the Phantom was in awe of the young woman's talents.

"Yes, monsieur. I began instruction at six." I answered quietly, unsure how to handle this unaccustomed amount of attention to my music.

"Your teacher must be tremendously pleased with you." The kind voice replied warmly.

"I would hope that he is." My voice dropped to just above a whisper as I looked up towards the ceiling of the stage. I quickly reached up to brush away a stray tear, before my company could see, but my hopes were in vain.

"My apologies, mademoiselle. I did not mean to upset you." The voice said softly as if trying to console me.

"It is fine." I took a breath to recompose myself. "It's never easy to lose your mentor and closest family member. I'm sure you can understand."

Erik's POV

To be honest, I didn't understand; I had never had any family to be close to. I was always just shoved away in disgust and hatred. 'This face, which earned a mother's fear and loathing.' I though scathingly as fury bubbled up inside me, but I quickly pushed it aside. The poor girl was distraught and hurt, it showed in every movement she made. She had truly loved this person and with them gone, she was lost. She tries so hard to hide it, but the loneliness still seeps through.

"I can imagine it would be a difficult experience. I understand the pain of loss well enough." I replied softly, trying to keep the brewing sorrow out of my voice.

She was silent for a moment, before she quietly began to speak again. "Monsieur, forgive me for asking, but are you the one that people always talk about; the one that lives in the opera?"

She had asked the one question, that I truly was not ready to answer. If I told her the truth, how would she react? Would she run for the police and alert them, for surely they must assume me to be dead after the fire? Or would she shriek and run away like people have all my life? Should I even tell her, or should I just melt back into the shadows and return to my lair without another word? She must have taken my silence as the answer to her question and turned to grab another booklet of music.

I sighed heavily, having mixed feelings about what I was about to do. "Yes. I am the one people call the Phantom of the Opera."

Her head shot up in shock, making my heart sink. However instead of rushing from the room, she simply stared up near to where I was hidden and smiled. "You are real, wow." She whispered under her breath. "I've heard about your brilliant music. It is an honor to be in your presence monsieur. Please do not be angry at me for being in your opera house."

It was most certainly not the reaction I was expecting, to put it mildly. The reverence in her tone made me smile as I placed a gloved hand over my heart. The warmth I felt there, felt alien and strange, but it felt nice. "Nonsense, any true musician is always welcome in my home."

She smiled brightly. "Thank you, monsieur ph- what would you prefer me to address you as?" She finished sheepishly as a light blush crept onto her cheeks.

Yet another surprise. No one has ever asked me what name I prefer, then again, only one person has ever asked me for my name; Antoinette Giry, the only friend I have ever known. A smile grew on my lips. This woman has shown me kindness and for that I will share with her my true name.

"You may call me Erik, mademoiselle."

It is strange, how trusting I am toward this complete stranger, I cannot tell if it is from a realization of the loneliness that I have felt burning for all these years, or if it was simply her genuine kindness that just touched my heart. But either way, it was blindingly extraordinary, and I could only pray that these rash irregular actions, that discarded everything that I have ever learned about self-preservation, would not be the same to send me to my demise.

"Erik." She repeated softly back to herself.

The emotions that surged with the sound of hearing her say my name, were warm, yet unexpected. I did not anticipate how nice it would sound to hear someone speak my name in a gentle soothing voice, instead of in fear.

"Monsieur Erik, may I formerly ask if I may use the opera as a place to practice? I do not want to impose." The young woman asked with apprehension.

This woman continues to baffle me more and more. Why would she think I would mind if she played her sweet melodies here?

"Of course, mademoiselle. You are always welcome to come as often as you desire. Although I must confess that you will make me feel guilty, to be the sole ears to be graced by your music." I replied finding a smile and slight chuckle in my voice. It was all so strange, to feel such happiness, but dare I say that- that I enjoy it.

"Thank you Monsieur Erik!" She exclaimed before she fell oddly silent. "It truly means so much to me that you are letting me return. I have no where else to play." She whispered, sadness teeming in her words.

"Surely your family must enjoy your musical abilities?" I replied perplexedly. I truly did not understand what she was telling me. Why if I had a child that was as talented as she is, I would be overjoyed and assure that she had everything she could possibly require to nurture her musical genius.

"No monsieur, in truth, they hate it. They find my passion for music improper and have forbade me from playing in the house."

This made my heart drop. Forbid music? To stifle such a talent? I felt my fist tighten as anger coursed through my veins. A feeling I was far more familiar with.

"They dislike my playing, my singing, everything that gives me joy. Since my grandfather passed, I've had no sure place to go, but across the city, far from where they could find me. Once I had heard of the fire, I felt that I would be safe in these halls. But surely you must understand, Monsieur Erik, that it is the very lifeblood that fills my soul! They will never understand that to rob me of my music, is to banish me to hell! They are killing me, and they don't even know it!" She finished as she crumpled into sobs. All that pain and hurt that she had just released to me, how many years has she been hiding it away, telling no one of her deepest torment? Before I had truly realized my actions, I was slipping through the quickest passage from box five to the stage.

The poor girl was still sobbing in anguish as I laid a consoling arm around her shoulder, covering her back with my cape, like a blanket of darkness; soft and comforting.

_"Shh little angel come rest your wings, you have come home now, where music freely sings. Dry your tears little angel, here in the darkness, no one can harm you. You are welcome in the kingdom of the night."_ I sang soothingly in her ear.

Her tears slowly began to cease as she leaned into my chest, another affection I was unaccustomed to.

"Thank you for your comforts, Monsieur Erik, you sing beautifully." She smiled, as she looked up at my face, but then quickly blushed and looked down when she realized how close we were. Shy little thing, isn't she. _Yet so trusting…_ "Forgive me, monsieur. I should not trouble you with my emotional issues."

"Fret not, young miss. It is best to expose ones emotions, than to suppress them within. They are instigators and inspiration of our craft." I replied with understanding, as I wiped a remaining tear from her cheek. I leaned back and for a moment we simply just stared out into the auditorium.

Then my cheeks began to burn from embarrassment- _Wait, embarrassment? I never feel embarrassed- _but I've been a most uncourteous host, I never asked her for her name. It seems I really am none to good with social interaction. Turning to her, I spoke trying to hide my self-consciousness, "Mademoiselle, my sincerest apologies, but it just dawned on me, that I never asked you for your name."

"It's Geneve, monsieur. Do not be troubled, I take no offense." She smiled, placing a small hand over mine, which rested on the back of her chair. I was taken aback by her unexpected touch.

"Cher le ciel! Monsieur what time is it?" She suddenly started as she grabbed her case and hastily placed the three pieces of her instrument in it.

"I wish I could tell you, Mademoiselle Geneve." I sighed, feeling helplessly useless.

"Oh, I hope my parents do not catch me." She fretted as she stood to leave.

"Will I see you again, Monsieur Erik?" She turned back and looked me straight in the eyes with her bright emerald ones.

"I am always here, ma chère." I reached out and gave her hand a small kiss.

A light blush spread to her cheeks as she smiled.

"I'm glad. Good night, Monsieur Erik." She waved as she hustled out of the theater.

"Good night, Mademoiselle Geneve. Be safe." I called after her, never convincing the smile to fall from my face.


	4. Chapter 4 Internal Battles Wage On

**Authors Note: Sorry it has taken me so long to update! These chapters will be the last for a while, since school starts up again next week. Also I appologize if this chapter seems a little slow, but it has a reason to be so, it'll explain itself very soon! Also a bit more of a Kay influence will be coming into play shortly. I love reviews!**

**And of course the obligatory: I don't own _Phantom_, it belongs to its prospective authors, but I own my OC's.**

**Enjoy!**

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Chapter 4- Internal Battles Wage On

Geneve's POV

The cool night air burned my lungs as I raced through the streets. 'It is oddly cool for an evening in the middle of August, but that might just be due to the warmth I still feel on my face. He was very kind, wasn't he?' I mused as I silently wove through the oddly empty streets. 'What time could it possibly be? How many hours was I entranced at the opera house? It felt like I was there scarcely two hours, but it was mid-afternoon when I left the house, and now it is long past nightfall. Despite the criticism and skepticism my parents might so willingly bestow upon me, should they have noticed my prolonged absence, I know staying to converse with Monsieur Erik was worth the risk. It was odd, to bear my soul so openly, to an utter stranger, and yet it felt comforting. He didn't snap at me for being a silly girl who speaks from her heart and being a fool in pursuit of her musical follies.' I sighed, slowing to a brisk walk, to help steady my breathing, as I started up our cobblestone drive. 'For once, he had made me feel special, like my talents and person were more than just those of a ridiculous woman trying to be someone she shouldn't. He saw me, as only a musician with true passion can; he saw me, but not only that, he welcomed me. He had said, well actually sang, that I had come home, and to be truthful, I did feel more at home there at the opera, and there with him, than I did in my own house, where I am mostly misunderstood. They mean well, they really do, but the way Monsieur Erik spoke tonight, made me feel truly protected and appreciated. It created a stir my heart, in a way that I am unable explain. The bud of an impending friendship.' I smiled, placing my right hand over my chest in hopes of stilling the suffocating happiness, before I began to climb the lattice trellis up to my room.

Once inside, I quickly slid my flute under the skirt of my bed and glanced warily over at the clock in the corner. Nine forty-three, I sighed, casting my eyes upwards as gratitude and relief swept over me. A slight thump echoed from the stairs, stirring me from my content reverie. Truthfully, the evening was too far spent to reappear inconspicuously down in the parlor, but just the same too early to turn in, perhaps I shall read for a while. Yes, a bit of reading should be exactly the cure for subduing my rampant thoughts.' I smiled to myself as I changed into my nightclothes. I still heard further movement around the house, which eased my mind and didn't compel me to change silently and instead I began to hum a light melody. I climbed into bed and brightened my small bedside oil lamp to allow its soft glow to wash over the room.

"_They seem to pity the lady: it_

_seems her affections have their full bent. Love me!_

_why, it must be requited. I hear how I am censured:_

_they say I will bear myself proudly, if I perceive_

_the love come from her; they say too that she will_

_rather die than give any sign of affection. I did_

_never think to marry: I must not seem proud: happy_

_are they that hear their detractions and can put_

_them to mending. They say the lady is fair; 'tis a_

_truth, I can bear them witness; and virtuous…"_

After reading the same page several times, I still was not able to focus on the passage in front of me. With a defeated sigh, I replaced my marker in the book and set it aside on my bed. I just could not concentrate on the story. Instead, my mind kept wandering back to the opera house. This was quite a failed attempt to distract myself, I must say. Casting my eyes upward, I started tracing the cream lace's swirling and twisting pattern, trying to organize my mind. However, every time my eyes would start to blur, I would shut them for just a moment, only to find the enigmatic man's eyes staring back at me. Those soulful clear blue eyes with flecks of gold that danced so curiously within; Erik's eyes; the eyes of the Phantom. He was real; not a ghost or a legend, but still a man as mystifying as the night itself. I sighed. Finally, giving up on my failed attempt to read, I replaced my book on my nightstand and turned down the lamp until it extinguished. Slipping under my covers, thoughts of the peculiar encounter flooded my head once more.

A smile stole across my lips as I recalled how Erik had comforted me so tenderly. It was strange, and yet endearing, the way he spoke, every word teeming with emotion and sincerity. I have never chanced upon such a man who so openly displayed feeling. And even though he hid half of his face behind a porcelain mask, it did not inhibit his display of expression in the slightest. His eyes showed that he was undoubtedly gentle, but in the same instance, he exerted a powerful presence, one that I am sure could easily turn menacing, if the need arose.

This man was certainly not without his dangers, but beneath this poised and dignified exterior, there seemed to be a looming brokenness wrapping about him. It was there, muted in his eyes and lingering in his words, as if one gust of wind would shatter him, making him but a myth once more. He was so kind, and yet there was such an immeasurable ring of sadness that surrounded him; such misery welling in those azure eyes. I wracked my mind for all the possible afflictions that could have possibly created those deeply wounded eyes, but everything came up short. Perhaps he is just lonely, like I am; just looking for someone who can finally understand them, for who they are. Maybe we can find a solace in each other, an understanding through music. Perhaps, he only needs a friend.

I should go visit Monsieur Erik tomorrow, after noon tea. I smiled as I slowly drifted into a sleep filled with the haunting melodies of his voice.

Erik's POV

Back down at my organ, I sat with my head in my hands. My thoughts were racing. Why did I act so foolishly tonight? In such a short while, I managed to abandon every single scrap of self-preservation I have ever learned! And for what, some random girl that stumbled into my opera house? True she did seem to suffer from some emotional plight, but why should I concern myself with her trivialities? She knew _nothing_ of true suffering. I growled jumping to my feet, leaving the bench to clatter harshly backwards.

That was yet another thing _she_ taught me. At times I wondered if, in fact, she was the teacher and I her student. _She_ had taught me how to feel beyond hatred, to open my crippled heart to feel such emotions that I was convinced were forbidden to such a monstrous soul as myself. _She_ had given me a glimpse of happiness, of love, of lust, all such emotions that I had never once known, and when she left… No I will no think of it again! I will not think of that pain again! I whimpered pathetically as I pressed both of my hands to my skull, trying vainly to subdue the growing throbbing pressure.

'Erik, you are an imbecilic fool, you know that! Here I find you sniveling like a deplorable child. My, how have you fallen! Behold the great Phantom of the Opera, too distraught over his fantasy lover, that now he is reduced to serenading any young chit that enters his domain. And for what Erik, you somehow think that it is merely possible that one of these times, the stupid girl might just love you?' Malice cackled, far too eager to torment something, and since I held no prisoners, I was its only target.

'Shut up! I learned my lesson alright! I do not even know why I acted as I did tonight! It was most probable that is was out of mere pity. Nothing more!'

'Oh Erik, you know that is a downright lie. Who are you hoping to fool? Surely not us. Perhaps yourself? Perhaps you do not want to admit that tonight a small flicker of compassion flooded your hardened soul, and that you saw a bit of yourself in the girl? Does that frighten you, Erik? To allow yourself to feel again?' Reason's smooth voice purred, as it drowned out Malice's vulgar protests.

Reason's words made sense, but no, I could not walk back into that trap again! I could not bear that pain once more!

'Angel of Music,' Malice breathed, imitating _her_. 'You aren't going to believe that nonsense are you?'

"Silence!" My voice boomed throughout the caverns.

'Or what, Erik? There is nothing you can do, no where you can run, that I will not find you.' Malice replied snidely.

'I can damn well try.' I spat back, striding across the room.

'Erik, really, after everything that has happened and everything that you have scraped through, how could you possibly just throw it all away?' Malice continued to plague on about my original conflict.

'You are not going to just leave me to my misery are you? I want more than to exist, I want to live in a world outside of my solitude… To do something worthwhile, to be useful.' I cried out as Malice returned with its insipid laughter.

'Why? You are better than all of them, above them! Why succumb to their level of wretchedness, where you will only be tormented and mocked again? If anything, you should just frighten the girl off with a threat and leave well enough alone. Because I highly doubt you could possibly kill someone now, even such a weak and helpless little target. You are such a bore anymore Erik, and to think that for a while I was enjoying myself again. Why I hadn't been in that good of spirits since Persia. It is a downright shame, what you've become. Fearsome Phantom, I think not. To let those marvelous talents go wasted, for shame! Why not try your hand at constructing another joyfully devious trap to ensnare an uninvited guest?'

I blinked unfeelingly.

'That once would cheer you from the foulest mood.' Malice clicked.

'Why should I bother? It wouldn't change anything. I'd still be miserable. What is the difference if I kill one man or a thousand? It all will still be the same.'

'I cannot believe the words I am hearing from you sir! Cease such absurd speeches! If bright fresh murder is no longer appealing, what on Earth could possibly have filled this desire?'

'All I want is to be a normal man! To live like others have all their lives!'

'That is what you want! You absurd excuse of a creature! Look, look right there,' Malice pulled up the curtain to a cracked mirror. 'Look at yourself. Do you ever think **that** **thing** could be a normal man? Never! You are a monster, Erik as you will always be! So stop attempting to dream otherwise!'

'One always longs for what they can never possess.' I sighed.

'You have been so content here in your years of solitude. You are destined to be alone, Erik. I thought you would have realized that by now.'

'Content is not hardly the word I would use. How dare you use such an underrating turn of phrase!' I hissed as I clenched my fists.

The voice continued on, not in the slightest phased by my enraged behavior.

'Really, were you even thinking, you imbecile? She could have so easily ran off and alerted the police that the fire didn't claim your life and then all of the Paris mob would be at our gates. And of all things, why did you sing for her? Don't tell me you were trying to impress her, Monsieur "Emotions are instigators and inspiration of our craft." Bleh, what a disgusting mouth of dribble.'

'How dare you insult me! I was being honest! Besides what you know about music, and its passionate driving force anyway?'

'Everything you do, Erik. Lest you forget, I am you.' Malice coolly replied.

I paused; I had almost forgotten that I was warring within my own mind. It was so vivid, like I was fighting with another in the room. Perhaps I have been living in solitude too long; perhaps I am just beginning to slip again into the greedy grasp of madness.

And while the voice of Malice would like no less than to tempt me to fly off into a red murderous rage, in honesty I was no closer to a resolute answer about what I was going to do about the girl. Perhaps mere observation would be the best course for the present time being.


	5. Chapter 5 Learning the Dangers

Chapter 5- Learning the Dangers of the Phantom

Geneve's POV

I pushed open the dusty theater doors with little struggle. The brief bars of light that cascaded in front of me disappeared with a slight bang, as the doors swung shut. The slightly musty aroma of the unused theater met my nose once again. Over the months it had become a scent that brought me great comfort, for here I knew I was safe from the critical eyes of my father. Actually, I was liberated from the critical eyes of everyone, everyone but Erik. The thought of him brought a slight smile to my lips.

"Hello, Monsieur Erik, are you here?" I called out cheerfully, twirling further into the auditorium.

My ears were met with silence as I cast my eyes around the dimly lit space in vain. I sighed, assuming he must just be somewhere else, and began to assemble my flute for practice. It was funny, I felt almost disappointed. I was half hoping he would be standing on the stage waiting for me, but I was just being illogical. He has much more interesting matters to attend to, rather than wait for an uncertain reappearance of a silly girl. Why on Earth would such a preposterous idea cross through my thoughts?

Honestly, I did not know the answer to that. Why _was_ I so excited to see the mysterious Phantom of the Opera again? Curiosity perhaps? Yes, that would make perfect sense. My mind spun as it battled with this question, when I began to feel the sensitive hairs on the nape of my neck raise as I noted an unmistakable gaze on me. A gaze, I was certain I recognized. Monsieur Erik. So he is here, but why is he hiding from me?

"Monsieur, I know you are there, please stop hiding." I spoke as calmly as I could, doing my best to subdue the bubbling laugh and joviality from my voice.

Moments passed and still not a single utterance drifted down to my ears. A brief pang of hurt fluttered through my heart, but I dismissed it.

"Fine." I sighed huffily as I felt my irritation toward him rise, however a devious plan flashed through my mind as a grin that could best the devil himself stole across my features. 'If you will not come out, I will make you come out.'

Suppressing the snicker building in my throat, I raised my flute to my lips and preceded to produce one of the most disastrous and cacophonous wreckages of music, I'm convinced, ever played. It was absolutely dreadful to listen to and I knew its purpose had succeeded when a cry of surprise and anguish echoed out of the balcony.

"For heaven's sake stop desecrating that poor instrument." A familiar voice growled in condemnation. I complied, knowing that I had achieved my goal as I still smiled widely.

Erik's POV

"So now you decide to speak to me?" Her blasted singsong voice echoed up to me. Why was she so bloody pleased with herse- Damn it! I fell right into her trap. I let some insolent chit outwit the Phantom of the Opera! How dare she make a fool out of me, she was just like _her_, just like every other blasted woman on this damned planet! All devious, underhanded Deliahs, all set on making a mockery of me. Damn them all! I should have known. I should not have let my guard down. I have become weak! This is unacceptable! She shall pay for all their crimes. I will not be as merciful as I was with _her_. Oh no, she shall pay dearly. I growled, feeling my rage and self-loathing mounting as I pulled a coarse, thick length of rope out of my coat.

"No, you treacherous deranged viper of a child." I sneered, readying to pounce from my box and wrap my lasso around her scrawny neck; to see her eyes gloss over as life finally flees from her body.

'_Come now, Erik, put those dreadful thoughts from your mind this instant! You weren't really just contemplating on strangling that poor young girl, were you? For shame! Even thinking about hurting a woman, why I never! You must recompose yourself monsieur! No need to get testy with her, Phantom, you are just out practice. With no one around, there was no need to skulk around to keep undetected. Your pride is just a bit wounded, is all. It isn't the girl's fault, she was only trying to overcome your blasted stubbornness.' _Reason scolded with agitation.

'Yes with her damned trap.' I hissed back at the voice.

'_Yes, yes. She tricked you, get over that, but wasn't it a most ingenious trap, Erik?'_

'That-' My eyes widened with realization, my rage fleeting. 'It was true.' I surrendered, tucking the rope back within the folds of my cloak.

'_Ah, I see you're finally listening. The girl is intelligent, as you can see. Just think of what you could teach her.'_

'NO! Not again!' I took a calming breath. 'At least not yet.'

'_Fine, fine. I'll give you that, but at least humor the young thing. It might do you both some good.'_

'I need no one.'

'_Erik.' _Reason growled warningly. Annoying little bugger, that voice is.

'_Thank you, sir. Now, the girl.' _It finished before fleeting away.

'A conniving, yet brilliant trap. Stunning really. She knew it would stir a response from me. Was I that easy to read?' I wondered at I looked back at the girl. Her smirk had lessened and a glimmer of fear flashed in her eyes. My shoulders slumped slightly as a pang of guilt tore through me. I've hardly opened my mouth and I'm already petrifying the poor girl.

"Relax, would you. I'm not going to hurt you, Geneve." I snapped agitatedly.

'_Calm down Erik.'_ Reason urged its opinion again.

'Fine.' I sighed pinching the bridge of my nose as I took a deep breath.

The girl's stance calmed down slightly, but still remained on edge.

"Please, for heaven's sake, I give my word, I intend you no harm." I sighed gently. It is funny how so many things are much easier to destroy that to rebuild. It has proven true in nearly every aspect of my life. I mused ruefully. She will never return now and I must accept that it is for the best. I would only harm her, or her me. It would be best to just let her go. My wretchedness has condemned me from being near such a beautiful creature of the light. I am a monster, inside and out. Perhaps once I was not truly a monster inside, but now I am certain that every former shred of humanity has been eaten away by the darkness.

"Monsieur?" The sound of her voice snapped me from my spiraling thoughts of self-loathing. "Forgive me, if I am prying, but why do you hide in the darkness, up there, alone?"

"Simple, the darkness and solitude bring me comfort." I answered aloofly, not wanting to deal with the girl anymore.

"But why did you hide yourself from me?" She questioned as she stood.

"Because my actions yesterday were quite out of character for me. I do not trust myself, and neither should you." I replied with a grim tone as I turned to reenter the passage back down to my lair.

"It does not appear to be so from my vantage point. Despite your words, I know you are a kind man deep down. A truly malicious being would not have shown me such kindness. Perhaps if you were to come down here, you would think so yourself." She challenged, placing a hand on her hip.

I stopped as I pulled my hand back from the lever. Her last words baffled me. No one has ever said such things to me. "No one has ever called me kind." I whispered in disbelief, before I managed to recover an even tone. Dropping my hand back to my side I re-approached the railing. "You are certainly a peculiar and interesting child. Why are you so blatantly wishing for me to be nearer to you, do you have a death wish, girl?"

"I think you have spent far too many years around the theater. You are too dramatic." She sighed shaking her head at me.

What am I supposed to say to that? I mused as felt the familiar tug of a subconscious memory. Giovanni's words flooded my mind: 'Erik, I hope you'll never become so good at building walls that you can't see when they need to be pulled down…' A pang of guilt soaked misery jabbed at my heart. It was yet another failed chapter in my life, but his words rang true enough. Should I chance it? I grappled with this question's pros and cons when I heard her cough lightly. I could not tell whether or not it was to get my attention, but which ever it was, I knew I had decided. With a flourish of my cape, I disappeared from my box, leaving the girl alone in the auditorium.


	6. Chapter 6 I've Decided

Chapter 6- I've Decided

My boots clicked silently across the right wing of the stage, watching Geneve dejectedly sit back down and stare at the gleaming instrument in her hands. How curious, she actually seemed… sad that I did not answer back? Why was she so intent on befriending an old miserable hermit? For heaven's sake, it better not be because she pities me. I do not need her useless pity. I inwardly growled, curling my fists.

'_Erik.'_ Reason's chattering had returned again.

'Go away. Isn't one irritation from you enough for one day?' I spat back wishing I could strangle the damn voice.

'_So testy Monsieur, you must work on that, but that is hardly my purpose for calling. Have you ever considered that it is just possible that this girl is simply as miserable and lonely as you are? That perhaps she sees you as an equal that could connect though like emotional suffering?'_

'No child so beautiful could have possibly suffered as severely as I have been forced to endure.' I inwardly sighed as I grabbed a fistful of tattered curtain.

'_Are you so sure this is true?'_

'Yes.'

'_Which is worse Monsieur, to suffer in solitude because there is no one else there, or to suffer surrounded by people who are oblivious to your pain?'_

'How does one answer such a question?'

'_I expect no answer, I am simply providing you something to think about, before you turn your back on this poor girl.'_

Her soft broken voice cut off the retort I was about to fire back at my conscience.

"Geneve, you are a fool, you always have been. Why did you think this man would care anymore about you than anyone else?"

I have never heard another human being's words teem with such dejection as hers did. Another pang of guilt wracked through me. Did I cause this?

She exhaled in defeat. "Perhaps I am too much of an oddity, for anyone to understand. Perhaps father was right; perhaps my passion for music is ridiculous. Could my heart truly have been leading me astray all these years? Is that even possible? It must have been, but can I ever repair the damage this infatuation of music has caused?"

'NO!' My heart stuttered in panic. Had my thoughtless actions been the trigger for this sudden wave of self-doubt, her rejection of her heavenly gift of song? Despite my decision before to leave the girl in peace, even my scrap of a conscience could not let her carry out the actions behind her current thoughts.

"Never think such things, child. Why would you turn your back on music, just because your father objects?" I gently chided as I pushed off from the prop I was leaning against and stepped into the dim candlelight. She started slightly before casting her head down.

"Geneve, were you not the one that said that music was the very lifeblood that filled your soul?"

"It was."

"It is. You have been given the gift of music and no matter how desperately you will try to ignore it, it will always find you."

"Why are you saying these things to me? I pray that it not an obligation of pity for a pathetic lonesome woman, because I do not need your pity, Monsieur, I can assure you of that!" She snarled back at me as her fingers gripped tighter around her flute.

"Mam'selle, I may not be the best at comforting another, but when I said that you were welcome here, I meant it. Believe me, I understand what it means to be an oddity, an outcast due to no fault of your own. But I have also witnessed what will happen once this pent up feeling is released, and that madness is not a fate I wish upon anyone, no matter how much they may deserve it."

At this she looked up from her lap with a light smile gracing her lips. She did not reply and I quickly began to feel somewhat ridiculous, in saying such a thing. I have never actually admitted that calmly before. What is coming over me? I wondered apprehensively as I waited for her to speak. I scuffed my foot nervously in a circle on the floor. I do not like being unsure of my actions.

I heard a slight gasp and my head shot up from glancing at my feet, only to find Geneve staring surprised and intently at my dark form.

"Monsieur, you came down." She spoke in disbelief, before her mouth pulled into a pleased grin. It took me aback for a moment. For someone to be happy to see me, it was a completely new experience. Although, I surrendered, it was not such a bad one.

"I've been here for several minutes now. I was wondering if you were ever going to notice." I chuckled as I continued to bask in this new euphoric feeling. I felt almost whole and for once my laughter was not contrived or maniacal, for once I felt I was just Erik.

"I beg your pardon Monsieur Erik."

"Fret not, I am hardly offended, Geneve… Do you still wish to know Erik, the Opera Ghost?" I asked tentatively.

"If that is an invitation, then I accept readily."

"Your courage amuses me, child. That rarely happens." I replied thoughtfully, clasping my hands together in front of me. "You are a most wonderfully peculiar mademoiselle indeed."

Perhaps it is, in fact, time for a few walls to be pulled down.

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**I would love to know what you think of this so far!**


	7. Chapter 7 Undisclosed Desires

**Sorry for such a long wait, school, college applications, portfolios and ectera have gotten it the way. Plus it also took forever for me to be happy with this chapter, but thanks to much nagging from oldagevampirelover, here it is. Thanks for the help with this chapter, Nicki! This chapter is crucial to Geneve's POV for the rest of the story. I do not own the Phantom of the Opera, although I am one of many who wish they did, because it is just that awesome. Hope you enjoy and without further ado, Chapter 7...

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Chapter 7 Undisclosed Desires

Geneve's POV

It's amazing how life can change so drastically in such brief passages of time. In a moment, lives can be crushed, hearts can be shattered, and yet, just as easily, they can be awakened and brought back from the brink of isolated anguish. Sometimes the change is almost frightening, but in a way that makes one anxious for the future… It's funny to think that I met Erik little over a fortnight ago, yet it feels as if we have known each other for so much longer than just that short while.

At first we were so unsure of each other. It wasn't uncomfortable, just cautious. He was uncertain to what extent he could trust me, but due to society's contempt toward him, I was content knowing that he was willing enough to try to overcome this barrier. He isn't who society depicts him to be. His rules were simple: I must never mention or touch his mask and even more crucial, he had quickly made me swear upon pain of death, that I was not to reveal his presence to the outside world. "They all think me dead, I wish for it to stay that way." I hastily agreed and upon my response, much to my relief, his imposing and intimating demeanor dissolved, melting back into what I had come to know as his typical kind and docile manner. He truly was a conundrum; one moment he was as volatile as a cornered animal, and the next he was warmly insisting that I must never walk around the opera house without his guidance, for fear that I might stumble upon injury. He went on to clarify his reasoning to be that when the Paris Commune occupied the Populaire, many "unwarranted additions," were made that in the opera's current condition, could prove treacherous if the proper precautions were not taken.

Yes, he was most indeed a man of contradictions and while he had proved to be quite an upstanding gentleman, in good conscience, I could not let myself forget about the thinly leashed fury that I had witnessed within him. _That was the Phantom_… That frightful memory of those glowing cat-like orbs and the shadow of a rope as his crouched figure teetered on the box's ledge, prepared to launch himself off at any given second. And then his lanky, yet imposing stature would tower over me as a malicious sneer would pull at his pale lips, revealing his flawlessly bone white teeth- I shivered.

The image was just too vivid, but logically I knew the latter was just the result of my runaway imagination. However it was true, I did fear him; that was beyond certain; but I also understood that it was no doubt his loneliness that had driven him to be so. If he could not inspire love, he would instead inspire fear. It filled him with the feeling of having control of something, something to manipulate, just like he must have felt controlled as a piece of comical fodder, created for the amusement of a vindictive higher power.

Without a doubt he was cynical toward society, and consequently their Creator, due to his bitterness and insecurities regarding the deformity that every member of the Parisian aristocracy twittered about.

But, as to be expected, the insipid masses had vastly exaggerated the appearance of this unique man. His frame was skeletally thin yes, but he was no living corpse, nor was his skin yellowed. He did not have a flaming death's head, but on the contrary, the portion that was visible was extremely handsome, with a sloping angular face, high cheek bones, and expressive, alert eyes. His dark full hair fell neatly to just past his chin, instead of the straggly patches of hair that seemed to be society's current favorite description of him. He was also always impeccably dressed and clean-shaven, not slovenly like they insinuated. In sum, the only description that they had been accurate about was that he always wore a white mask.

Yes, the man they saw as the diabolical Opera Ghost, was most certainly not Erik. The man I knew was an insightful and morose being, who was courteous yet witty. While he was extremely reserved in our conversations, he showed an earnest amity that I had nearly forgotten was capable of humanity. Erik had become an honest and invaluable friend to me and in such a short time…remarkable…

I picked up my blue and gold entwined hair ribbons and studied them with interest, turning them over and over again in the palm of my hand. Blue and gold… a flash flitted through my mind… like a candle's reflection in the water…His eyes are the most peculiar that I have encountered, and yet they are the most beautiful. In an ordinary situation, they are a brilliant clear blue, but when he is overtaken with a strong passion- particularly when discussing music or on the frightful occasion of his temper bubbling to the surface- the golden flecks glow to life, giving him the illusion of being even more feline than his graceful movements already revealed…

It was these little details and nuances that I looked forward to with our daily meetings. He was just such an interesting man. For someone surely not too much older than myself, his knowledge and wisdom rivaled that of a century old sage. His knowledge of music seemed infallible and so enlightening, as we would discuss the myriad of scores that the opera had once performed. But often he would just ask me to play and he would make corrections and instructions as he saw necessary.

For the first time, in far too many years, I can honestly declare that I had let someone in close enough to be a friend without pretense- It has been far too long since I could say that. I smiled, smoothing out my dress, before closing my door and descending to the light chatter of my younger sisters already seated for breakfast.

"Geneve, it is about time you came down." Annabelle giggled, her precious curly ringlets bouncing to and fro about her shoulders as she wagged her fork at me.

"Annabelle, is that anyway for a young lady to behave at the table." Our mother chided from the far end of the table. Instantly my sister sobered, "I'm sorry, mother," and resumed taking dainty bites.

"Yes Geneve, what on earth were you doing up there for so long?" Sophie goaded.

"Thinking, Sophie. Just thinking." No one could miss the boredom in my reply.

She rolled her eyes as a servant helped me into my seat at the table. "Ah yes, thinking. That is what you always seem to be doing."

"Is this a crime to do so?" I retorted with an eerie calmness. I saw mother shoot Sophie a pointed glance and Annabelle's eyes widen in understanding. I had an abysmal temper that everyone in the aristocracy whispered would never get me married off. The Auclair shrew, I was often called.

"No," she paused, knowing what was truly building underneath my placid veneer. "It's just bizarre… and unhealthy." She finished carefully.

"Unhealthy? Using your God-given brain is unhealthy?" I replied, placing my fork down coolly while fixing a hostile gaze upon her. "I hardly follow your logic, sister." I all but sneered at my ignorant sister.

"Geneve." My mother cautioned, clearing her throat. She always tried to play the mediator between the two of us.

"No mother, let her continue to make a fool of herself. It is these little demonstrations that underscore the reasons why she is approaching the age of twenty and still has not a single suitor."

A constricting jab shot through my heart. 'Damn her! She had to levy that against me! I mentally growled as I forced back the pricking in my eyes. They all believe they know me so well; that my temper and defiance are my only defining qualities. They don't understand where they are wrong, I am not above love, I crave it, but it- it has always deserted me. I- my heart shatters into a quivering and distraught mess at the sight of two carefree lovers, holding hands on a stroll. The simplest and most innocent caress, to free give to one who will not shy away, but instead long for it as well… From a far, it appears to be a most beautiful thing, but nonetheless it seems to never be meant for me. No one was ever willing to try to understand...'

My shoulders sagged dejectedly- it seemed as if this one admission had whisked away all fight from my being, leaving me just barely clinging to my last shred of composure. I needed to escape; free myself from my sister's taunting jeers. I will not cry. My throat felt arid and an unseen force was slowly tightening its grip around my heart. I will not cry. A distant voice asked solemnly if they could be excused from the table.

"Of course, Geneve." Came the reply.

A twisting wave of devastation. I cannot breathe. I will not let them see me cry.

A broken ghost swept through the manor, pausing only to snatch a quill, a small instrument case, and a cloak, before vanishing... without a trace.

Rapid footsteps echoed down the cobbled drive, a clink of the garden gates, freedom. Here, I let myself surrender; here, I did not care who saw me cry.

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	8. Chapter 8 In The Wake of Love

**AN: A thousand apologies for taking so long with this chapter, but hopefully it was worth the wait. Just a few more chapters until 12 and then things _really_ start to get interesting, but you will understand in time. I'll try to get the next chapter up, before _Aida_ monopolizes my time. Also, has anyone else noticed that the play section on here for Phantom has vanished? Does anyone know what happened? But anyways... Thank you so much to everyone who has subscribed or favorited. As well as my lovely reviewers: Daughter of Dionysus, Damon's Future Wife, LoveShouldDie, oldagevampirelover, SleepyHeather, evanglia123, and Saiyaness28. Thank you again! Also special ****thanks to oldagevampirelover for not letting me give up on this story and for proofreading and everything else you've done for me! And the obligatory, I don't own Phantom of the Opera, but wish I did, but all OC's are property of me and bla, bla, bla... you get it.**

**Without further ado, Chapter 8.**

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Chapter 8- In the Wake of Love

Erik's POV

My footsteps echoed throughout the silent opera house as I skulked around the flies. The hollow desolation was only amplified by the monotonous droning of raindrops pattering against the roof. 'What a dreary day.' I mused as I deftly leaped onto the catwalk. Everything just feels dead since the fire. All the life of the opera house, which once used to irritate me to no end, I now found myself, quite ironically, missing. I reached out, thumbing a trailing shred of the once opulent front curtains. The charred and heat faded velvet curtains only amplified this reflection of how all the joy and commotion under this roof had been mercilessly snuffed out… and I had no one to blame but myself. I was a miserable recluse then, and I am just as miserable now. 'No,' I stilled my movements. 'That was false, in all honesty, in these last few weeks I have been happier than I have been most of my life. All because of a mysterious twist of fate named Geneve. Why, if I believed that God above was even the slightest bit benevolent, one could have almost convinced me that she was mercifully sent to me to assuage my incessant anguish. But, truth be told, I knew that was false, because I knew that for all of my crimes, there was no divine grace boundless enough to absolve my wretched soul.

I was unquestionably damned in my afterlife, but yet while I still live, is it so egregious to dare to dream of a mildly pleasant existence? I'd be inclined to hope not, because it was on many occasions the only thought that has kept me living.

'Pitiful isn't it?' I exhaled as I eased myself into a sitting position on the narrow walkway. 'The single man who could once have inspired sheer terror in every inhabitant of the opera house, reduced to this; brooding on the misery of his condemned existence.'

'_No one would have ever feared you if they saw you like this.'_ Malice chuckled.

'Go away, I'm not hardly in the mood to deal with you.'

'_You never are, Erik.'_ Malice sighed in an uninterested tone.

'And yet, you always return.' I growled.

'_Well, what else am I supposed to do with my time?'_

'I don't care.' I answered as I shifted my position on the board. My flippant answer, for once, terminated the conversation.

I gazed down into the auditorium and sighed. I was at a stand still in terms to repairing the place. I'd cleaned up the glass and ash and re-painted what I could, but without the necessary supplies, which would be far too conspicuous to acquire, there was nothing more I could really do.

Resigned, my gaze shifted to the stage, focusing on the gathering of the two chairs, music stand, and their accompanying multitude of scores. I felt the ghost of a smile slip onto my face. Her presence was the only glimpse of light that kept me from being once more consumed by the darkness. Yes, the green-eyed girl's interest in music was quite pleasant. Never had I chanced upon a soul so devoted to her craft. I dare say her passion rivaled mine, although it would surely be unpardonable to reflect on a commonality that could mark us as being similar. Yes, surely unforgivable.

She was kind and gentle; it was such a rarity how her eyes regarded me with warmth and compassion. At times it almost frightened me. No woman had ever dared bestow such sweetness upon me. Not even my own mother could look upon me without hatred. Geneve was surely unique; when she spoke with me, she spoke without pity and even more shockingly, without fear. Geneve- why even at times in my life when I made my most valiant efforts to not be frightful, I still struck fear into their hearts by merely standing in their presence. And yet she still did not fear me. This wondrous child, why I dare say she made me feel almost… human.

The corners of my lips pulled into a miniscule smile. What was it about this wonderful girl that could coax a smile to my face by merely picturing her petite, pixie-like form striding through those auditorium doors?

It was true that she did have a pretty face, slender with delicate features. From her well-bred nose, her perfectly bowed lips, to her vibrant eyes as green and lively as harvest's first apple; that rich tone of her eyes which complimented her milky skin and waved auburn tresses, it was a wonder that she was not coveted for her natural beauty. And while her outward appearance was quite winsome, it was her true beauty that immerged when she played. She became so enraptured in the notes that resonated out of her fingertips, so much so that no words within my broad vocabulary would be sufficient in describing the emotion, the feeling of being able to completely lose yourself within music's serpentine gaze.

But I think another reason that has brought me to regard the girl with fondness, is that haunting tinge of sadness that lurks deep within those eyes. She was misunderstood and lonesome, and even though I knew she buried the causes within her heart, the challenge and curiosity of learning the sources of her pain made me hope that perhaps in some way I could help her and in the process maybe she could help me settle my ghosts as well. But… if I were to be honest with myself, I would know that she already has helped me a great deal. She's helped me confront my true emotions, and greater still, taught me that there still is a minute glimmer of kindness in the world. For that, Geneve, I will never be able to thank you enough.

As if on cue, the poor drenched creature flew through the doors. My grin intensified as I righted myself and smoothed out my suit, prepared to make my appearance below. She was soaked through- it was almost comical. It would have been, except she lacked her normal finesse and optimistic nature. Perhaps it was just this dreadful weather that was dampening her mood, no pun intended. I lightly chuckled at my own little quip. 'Perhaps a bit of good-natured lightheartedness would do her some good.' I reflected, strolling out onto the stage.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle Geneve. You are positively drenched. Tell me, did you walk all the way here?" I smirked, extending a clean cloth to her.

"Bonjour, Monsieur Erik, and thank you." She replied with a forced joviality as she proceeded to blot the moisture off from her face.

I observed her as she silently removed her coat and seated herself behind the music stand. She seemed very distracted. A small off-white square lying on the stage caught my eye. 'That was not there before,' I mused.

I gathered the loosely rolled parchment up in my gloved hand and carefully opened it. It appeared to be a poem. Perhaps I should not read it, it could be personal and not meant for my eyes. But alas, my curiosity overshadowed this newfound concern as I cast a sly glance over my shoulder at Geneve. She was so consumed by her thoughts; she was oblivious to my actions. Perfect.

My eyes fell upon the slightly blurred script of the rain soaked parchment:

_Fare thee well, little broken heart_

_Downcast eyes, lifetime loneliness_

_Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone_

_Constant longing for the perfect soul_

_Unwashed scenery forever gone_

_Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone_

_No love left in me_

_No eyes to see the heaven beside me_

_My time is yet to come_

_So I'll be forever yours_

_Whatever walks in my heart will walk alone_

_Whatever walks in my heart…_

…Beautiful certainly, but for one to forever belong to misery? What could have provoked such drastic words? Could- could we both truly be so similar to feel that since we will never belong to anyone, we might as well belong to misery? 'No, such a ridiculous notion that is.' I mentally shook my head as I took my seat next to her.

"Did you write this, Geneve?" I felt her gaze apprehensively follow to the piece of parchment in my hands. I knew she did, but I suppose I was asking as a mere formality. That, and it also opened the gates to the grounds of this conversation.

"Yes." She mumbled as she hid further in the music stand.

"Do not be embarrassed. It's very beautiful; soulful, yet sad. May I be so bold as to inquire to your inspiration for this poem?" I could tell from the nature of these lines that they were clearly not just arbitrary lines strewn together, but instead rooted in a deep emotion. If there was something ailing my dear friend, I could only hope that for once I could do something to help someone that I cared for.

She sighed softly as her normally vibrant green eyes met mine dully. "Have you ever been in love, Erik?" She asked earnestly. Of all the questions she had to ask; it had to be that. With those few simple words, I felt as if she had just ripped all the precious oxygen from my lungs.

"Please, do not ask me that, dear Geneve." My voice sounded so forced even to my own ears.

"I'll assume that indicates a yes."

I sadly nodded in reply.

"Then, I'm afraid that you would not be able to understand." She replied, leafing though a score. Her offhanded response troubled me.

"What wouldn't I understand, chère?"

"To never have loved… nor ever be loved in return, romantically speaking, that is."

"Never? How can that be possible? If such a beautiful soul as yours cannot find love; there truly must be no hope for me." I muttered softly to myself, glancing away from her eyes.

"I am truly sorry, Geneve." _To never have been loved…_

Geneve's POV

"It is no fault of yours, Erik. Although, the comical side of this, I suppose as comical as such a situation could be, I was engaged at one point." I mused as I returned the score to the pile.

Erik's one visible eyebrow rose as he shot me a quizzical look. I wasn't surprised.

A wry smirk pulled at my lips. "Yes, I do suppose that statement certainly warrants an explanation, doesn't it now. It was little over a year ago, when that whole disaster began… My family has always been well off, as you might have been able to gather, since at my age I am not required to work, and my approaching of eighteen meant I was due to be married off. Since I had no sweetheart or suitor, my father decided to take matters into his own hands to find me a suitable husband. After consulting a close family friend, my father and the Comte devised a plan that they felt was foolproof. You see, they both thought that Comte's younger brother and I would be a perfect match, since we both were about the same age and had remained friends, more or less, since childhood. They were so assured that we were the perfect arranged marriage; we were not strangers and more so, the other's family could be trusted as being of good merit and funds- which, as you know such things are of great importance to the myopic masses of the aristocracy. But alas, I am digressing into other matters. Forgive me. But nevertheless, we were to be married in the spring." I paused. This is one of the reasons I loved talking with Erik. Here, I was able to speak freely about personal matters and my disgruntlement with the aristocracy, without judgment or harassment. It just felt completely liberating.

"But why did it not proceed?" Erik's curiosity pulled me from my reflections. The answer was a blatant and simple answer, Erik: love.

"He found his love from childhood's hour." My reply came with an indifferent shrug. It wasn't so much the rejection of our marriage that made me bitter, for I remember him coming to me and beseeching me for forgiveness if he broke our forced engagement in order to marry the one his heart truly belonged to. He had mentioned her name, but I have long since forgotten it. Perhaps it was something with a "K" or maybe it was an "S." It matters not, I wanted him to be happy; to be with a woman who loved him to no end, and I knew it was not meant to be me. I did not love him, and I knew he did not love me. No, what made me bitter about the whole situation was that he had found love so easily- everyone around me seemed to- but never me.

"I am immensely sorry, Geneve." Erik nodded his head sympathetically.

"Thank you, but there is no need for you to be. He never loved me nor me him. They simply thought we would learn to love each other in time, but that was not what the heavens had in store for us."

…Before, Erik seemed greatly distraught by the mention of love. I wonder what his story is, but I know better than to ask. If he wishes, he might tell me in time, but most likely he will not. I do not think he tells others much of anything in this place, isolated away from the rest of the world. Since we met, he's always been very private about such personal matters, but I imagine that is merely just his personality. It is quite a curiosity though, I must say. Perhaps it was some great tragic lost that drove him to shun the world. Something so terrible that it has forever left its mark as the chilly sorrow that lurks in the depths of his eyes. It is hard to say for certain, but then again, I do know that it must have been something of significance to force him to embrace solitude as his only desolate companion. Terrifying, really, to live your life alone. Why even as much as Sophie is the bane of my existence, I would rather have her company than none at all. Such a fate, to be constantly consumed by your own melancholy and seclusion, with no other to distract you from your sorrows, is it even a life at all? Perhaps that is why he is so passionate about music. Perhaps in attempt to fill that human need for socializing, he turned to music, for it is the closest object that can be likened to an accompanying soul. Perhaps-

"What are you thinking, my dear?" Erik's voice cut in on my musings as he eyed me with interest.

"It's nothing I would want to trouble you with. My mind is merely wandering."

"At times two minds which wander reach further down the path." He replied sagely, clasping his hands over his left knee. He seemed in a patient mood today. Perhaps I should indulge in his offer. It might prove to be educational about my very tight-lipped companion.

"I do not want for you to feel obligated to answer, I am simply curious…" I trailed off. He seemed to bristle slightly at my words, so I quickly clarified, "Do not fret, it is nothing of a grave matter. Just a minor inquiry."

"Alright." He consented, relaxing slightly.

Erik's POV

"When we first met you had stated that solitude brought you comfort. I mean no disregard, Monsieur Erik, but how do you find isolation to be, as you said, a comfort? It only makes me miserable." She finished much softer than she started. Why did this unusual girl want these answers? What was she trying to accomplish?

"No one can hurt you." I felt the honest words slip out of my mouth as I slumped a little in my chair.

"How do you know for certain? Surely, it must get lonesome, never talking to anyone but yourself." Those soft virescent orbs were burning into mine. They held no malice, like I might have expected. But no, she truly did not understand what she was asking. Isolation was not a choice for me, but instead forced upon me by the cruelty of fate.

"No. I do not feel loneliness." I answered curtly, recovering my rigid, defensive posture. _'Liar.'_ Reason interjected. I closed my eyes, clenching my fists.I had to restrain myself from growling at the girl, or worse. No, that would be unacceptable! But why was she asking me these questions? I thought raggedly as I took several paces across the stage. Perhaps she wasn't Heaven-sent at all. Was she sent here just to torment and prod this monster? For the first time my opera felt like a cage. _A cage… Shouting… Those cold bars and colder eyes…_ I had to lean my arm against the wall for support as breath sawed in and out of my lungs. I could feel the burning memories start to bubble up into my conscious, but her voice stopped their advancement.

"Forgive me, I've upset you."

'_Thank you, Geneve, for making the voices go away.'_ I took a deep breath, exhaling slowly.

"Fury hurts less than sorrow." I murmured, bowing my head, still avoiding her gaze. I couldn't let her see my crumbled demeanor. I mentally shuddered. Those damned memories; they will never leave me, will they... And she had to call them forth, the damned viper!

"Pardon?" The innocent, dare I say, concern, in her words made me pause. No, it would be wrong to think that of her. She has shown me nothing but kindness. It wasn't her fault that my life has been as it has; and I mustn't take it out on her, otherwise I'll just push her away like every other person I have ever known. I did not wish for that to happen. For as much as I despised humanity, not even I wanted to die alone and friendless.

I heard her light footfalls approaching. "Erik, are you alright?" The softness of her voice caused me to finally meet her gaze.

I released a deep, sorrowful sigh. She deserves to know; I have told her so little about myself, if I want her friendship, I must be honest. The past has shown me that trickery and illusion only lead to ruin.

"Mademoiselle, please understand, it has always been easier for me to be angry than to dwell on the sadness that stirs it. That is how I have learned to survive. Please, I must implore you for your forgiveness."

"There is no need. It is I that has wronged you. My question was insensitive."

"No, that is where you are wrong. I'm afraid I am just a very bitter man." A humorless chuckle escaped my lips.

"You don't have to be, maestro." She replied, placing a dainty hand on my lower arm. Her beautiful milk white hand seemed to glow against my black suit jacket. It was such a simple gesture, but the gentle warmth on my arm felt so foreign.

"I wish it could only be so easy as that, Geneve." I sighed, meeting her eyes.

"Perhaps it is, and you just do not see it yet."

"Hmm," I paused, reflecting, "Perhaps…Perhaps you are right. I suppose we shall see in time… Come, let us return to your lesson."

* * *

**What'd you think? I'd love to know!**


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